Some other life, maybe some other time
by EleanorKate
Summary: Set during World War Two, two parties find each other in another life and wonder what may be NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

"One really does not know why Matron but she categorically insists…" Lady Browne started as she walked, heels clicking along the stone hallway, the smell of disinfectant reeking from every crack in the aging brickwork around her. Sadly in the brief moment she had spent up at the Manor, once used by friends as a country retreat, she could see the antiques had been moved away and the thick, luscious carpets now looked utterly worn down with footfalls. She did understand however why it was employed as a temporary Hospital but it did not sit well that such a glorious building was now subjected to such abuse.

"It's quite alright", the Matron replied, pushing open a heavy Oak door. "To be entirely truthful with you, every pair of hands that we can find at this time are more than welcome. Whoever they belong to!"

Lady Browne could hear the laughter in the Matron's voice and smiled with tight lips. "She is so sullen it seems these days that to be frank Sir Rex and I are slowly finding the ends of our tethers with her and one is despairing! It is all well and good for my husband as he can leave on a whim and take himself to New York, but one finds oneself abandoned at home with her".

They turned a corner into a vast room, a place Lady Browne knew once held dinner parties and soirees where she frequently attended, to find it packed to the rafters with opened boxes, bed frames and mattresses all piled in heaps ready for transport across the vast rooms of the Manor.

"We have tried to suggest all kinds of occupation but it is met with nothing but silent derision" Lady Browne noted. School, horse riding, dressmaking, even a place at Finishing School had been considered once the War was over. The latter, was still an option if Sir Rex would provide the funds. It may be the only way to send her away again; to remove the problem from under Lady Browne's nose day in and day out.

"What goes around in an almost eighteen year old girl's mind Lady Browne is often a mystery to the world at large" her companion replied as they continued to walk through the room, nurses, orderlies and work men everywhere, to a smaller anteroom that served as the Matron's office.

"I fear I must agree with you Matron" Lady Browne replied as they closed the door. "She does have so little to occupy her these days though; one simply cannot send her up to London in these circumstances or indeed anywhere where there is risk. Switzerland is an impossibility".

"No" the Matron replied, briefly shaking her head. "Far too dangerous for man and beast alike".

"And her Father will not pay for her to be accommodated to study quite yet so one is afraid one is rather engaged in finding her either charitable occupation or a husband". With the last word, Lady Browne installed her handbag across her middle, sharp and with the frustration she continued to carry around with her like a spectre lingering at her shoulder.

The Matron nodded, gesturing for her visitor to take a seat. "We always welcome assistance I can assure you of that Lady Browne but she will be expected to work just as hard as any of my staff".

It had long struck her mother that the thought of making beds, cleaning floors or God forbid, washing laundry soiled with all manner of bodily fluids might just perturb her youngest child. She might see how the week would unfold and then undoubtedly she would be faced with those eyes and the absolute impossibility of the child as she sat in that top floor bedroom in her own company for hours on end. How she was contented her mother would never know. The child would never talk to her; poring over medical books borrowed from the library. Where would that get her?

"So, Lady Browne" the Matron started, settling into her seat, "when I am to expect Camilla to join us?"

"She would have it that it was yesterday!" Lady Browne commented. "But shall we agree that she is brought here on Thursday morning?"

"Thursday would be exceptional. We are told we are to expect ten more patients from London then so it is all hands to the deck. I will require her at eight o'clock sharp and not a moment later!"

"One will ensure she is here" Lady Browne stated still entirely unsure.

"Most satisfactory".

Chummy's heart was singing at the top of its voice Every yard the black Rolls Royce travelled towards the makeshift Hospital caused it to spin and skip in what could have been said to be naïve excitement. Her skin tingled with the anticipation. Beside her, her mother sat, bolt upright and silent, vaguely viewing the Somerset landscape as it swirled past on the short drive. Her daughter too kept her thoughts to herself even though she had woken at dawn, carefully choosing the plainest dress she could find, tying her shoulder length hair at the nape of her neck with grey ribbon, waiting to hear the clock strike so she could go downstairs for breakfast.

Chummy thought for a moment. She had counted down these last few days, waking yesterday early and with disappointment that it was only Wednesday and she would spend another day sewing or reading as the rain battered against the windows. Today however, the sun shone and for the first time in years, so did she.

As she slipped into her seat at breakfast that morning she saw her Father's eyes raise. To be truthful he was surprised to see him.

"Good Morning".

"Good Morning Pa" she replied, taking up a seat; the oak table adorned with silver and the household's second best china.

That was the sum total of their 'conversation' before she carefully reached across the table to select a piece of toast. It was all she felt she could manage. She knew she should eat more; not silly enough to think that she was not about to undertake physical work, but if she at more she may just become bilious from nerves. Although she could hear footsteps upstairs and the creaking of floorboards as the house woke to start a new day, it was only the two in the dining room sitting at the carefully laid table.

Her father folded his newspaper and set it down.

"Your mother tells me you are going to up to the Manor today?" he inquired.

"Yes Pa", Chummy replied, about to lather her toast with strawberry jam.

"One believes that you are to help on the wards?" He shared his wife's lack of belief that this next week will cause nothing but trouble. Still it was only a week and frankly what could happen in a week?

"Yes Pa".

"Hmmmm", he replied, pursing his lips and taking up the paper again, signalling a second, very abrupt end to the conversation.

Chummy briefly looked and he disappeared behind the carefully ironed Times. She never understood why he insisted on his newspaper being ironed before it fell into his hands. She sighed inwardly, hearing the door behind her open and a pull at the ribbon in her hair.

"Do not pull your sister's hair Edward" their father scolded from behind the newspaper. "You are not infants!"

Ted rounded the side of the table and pulled a face at his Chummy, before he too took up a piece of toast with one hand and poured a cup of coffee with the other.

"So you're off today then Sissy?" Ted asked, having heard nothing but this supposed 'employment' for the past few days and becoming decidedly bored with the whole scenario.

"Yes" Chummy replied. "I'm looking forward to it".

"I bet you are!" Ted sniggered, jumping into his breakfast.

"And what does that mean Edward?" their father replied, again putting his newspaper down with some annoyance that he continued to be interrupted whilst he was trying to digest the stocks and shares.

"Well, when my chaste little Sissy isn't so chaste any more when all of those girl starved soldiers get their filthy hands on her!". He leered at his sister and it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. "They're call privates for a reason you know Sissy!"

"Edward!" their father scolded. "I will not have those despicable words at the breakfast table!".

"Sorry Pops!" Ted replied, insincerity seeping from his skin.

They both heard their father sigh heavily, breath shooting from his nose. "At least my only daughter is attempting to do something gainful with her time. Tell me Edward, what are your plans for today?"

"Shooting down to Pinky's" he replied, taking a sip of coffee. "His brother in law's off to South Africa for a year or two so he's having a get together".

"Yes, you did tell me he was off somewhere", their father replied. "You will have to give his father my best regards and wish him well for the journey".

Ted smiled insipidly, the sight lingering in Chummy's mind as the car pulled up outside the entrance to the manor house. Three ambulances stood outside, doors wide and from within one she saw an empty stretcher loaded into its back.

It had been three years since Matron Banks had seen Camilla Browne and she had clearly grown. She looked her up and down, smiling discreetly to her mother who stood by her side before they walked up the stone steps.

"Miss Browne, stop there!" the Matron breathed in a most exhausted fashion. "Please remove that ribbon from your hair forthwith. We will have no adornments here".

"Yes Matron", she replied, pulling away the grey silk. She would to remember those words as they would come in very handy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chummy stood, lined up at the head of the ward, stock still with the other Nursing staff and under her new title of 'Auxiliary Browne', the flutter in her chest had abated somewhat. She was still not relaxed, standing head and shoulders above the other nurses, once again feeling as though all eyes were on here. the new girl, the daughter of a Lady and certainly not someone who should be swilling out bed pans. She had never really understood the rule book she was meant to abide by.

She counted eleven Nurses and five Auxiliaries, uniformed and waiting for instruction. She was still in her dress, grey, but she had been handed a regulation pinafore and cap.

Behind them in the makeshift ward, she could hear the creak and groan of bed frames being wheeled in and curtains being hung. A curse of 'shit' from one of the joiners caused a round of giggles from the group of nurses as a plank tumbled to the ground, narrowly missing a cleaner who was on her knees blacking the grate of the grand fireplace that adorned the other wall.

"If you do not mind!", the Sister announced loudly as the bluster of conversation settled and each turned, hands clasped in front of them waiting for the days orders. "Thank you ladies. Now as some of you may well already know I am Sister Prince". She looked as starchy has her uniform.

"You will report to me at all turns and if there are issues that I cannot resolve I will then report to Matron Banks. You all know that you are here to carry out a job of work and I expect nothing more of you that utmost professionalism and care in your dealings with these men. Some will have injuries quite severe however I wish to hear no sounds of weakness or distress from you as you attend to their needs. We are to expect another draft of officers from London today. The ward you are standing is clearly empty and they will be housed here. By tonight it will be replete with injured men. We are to receive five men at noon and six more by supper time. All are in varying degrees of need and you are to be assigned patients according to your own skill and experience".

There was a murmur amongst the staff, acknowledging the Sister's comments.

"I hope very much that in an hour or two" she continued, "that the nursing staff will be able to make up the beds. Auxiliaries, you will fetch and carry as you are requested by your seniors".

"I will inspect each bed, sheets ironed and I trust you are all aware, whilst we may be in the countryside, of the concept of the hospital corner?" Anyone else and it might have been a joke. "Wheels on the beds will point outwards and will be in line. I will be measuring the turndown on the blankets. Eight inches. Any bed that is not to my specification will be stripped, the sheets and blankets will be taken to the laundry and you will start again".

"Yes Sister".

"Now, we have two new Auxiliaries with us and you two Browne and Watson are to carry out some very particular tasks before you are available to the nursing staff. Auxiliary Browne?" Chummy's head shot up.

"Yes Sister?"

"Well step forward". Chummy made her way to the front of the group as it parted to let her through feeling inconspicuous and wondering why she had been singled out.

"You have lived locally is that correct?" Sister Prince asked.

"Yes Sister".

"Well in that case, you are required to walk to the train station and purchase a new timetable for trains to and from London, such information to be transcribed onto letters which you will write to the next of kin of each of these men". She was handed a typed list. "You will seek the funds from Matron".

"Yes Sister" Chummy replied.

"You will also be required to purchase stamps from the Post Office. Can I presume you do know where the station and the Post Office are?"

"Yes Sister", Chummy nodded again. She actually loved that little Post Office; it sold so many kinds of ephemera and when she was tiny, Mrs Inman used to hand her a sweet when the Nanny was not looking and that station, well that was where she had spent many any hour being waved off to school. They could both be easily found.

"You are also to be assigned two persons to bed in. We were due receive another Auxiliary who has been delayed until Saturday so you are to attend to both and then hand over care of one of them to the missing Auxiliary. They are on their feet with effort, coherent and capable of carrying themselves I am told so you should be assured that they will be little trouble to settle in".

"At least in the physical sense" the Sister added quickly.

Chummy was handed two clipboards which she glanced briefly at and the accompanying long list of names and addresses of the soldier's families that she was to write to.

"As Auxiliaries, and as it is your first day, you will not be required to do little more than ensure they are accommodated, they have their belongings, are provided with food and fluids. The qualified staff will attend to their medical needs although in those two cases they are on the road to recovery" she announced to Chummy and the other two Auxiliaries, who were given a clipboard each. "You are not required to assist with medical needs".

"Yes Sister" the three chimed.

"Auxiliary Watson you are to come with me shortly and I will assign you your additional duties".

"Yes Sister" the blonde haired girl, probably a year or two older than Chummy replied.

"Now", the Sister continued, handing out further clipboards to the remainder of the staff. "You will find that each patient is marked with either the numbers one or two. These correlate to the tranche of patients that arrive at noon, marked 'one' and the others who will arrive at suppertime marked 'two'. I trust this is abundantly clear who is arriving when."

"Yes Sister" the group announced in unison again. It was starting to become almost like a monastic chant.

"Good. Now on your way!"

Chummy returned quickly from the station, the timetable tucked in her coat pocket along with the change that she was to return to the Matron to be locked away in the tin box held in the safe. Stamps were also purchased, Chummy finding instead, Mrs Inman's son behind the counter who she had last seen too many years ago than she cared to remember. He might have only been a schoolboy then and they exchanged little more than pleasantries as she purchased eleven first class stamps and they were folded inside the timetable to keep them clean.

"Thank you Auxiliary Browne" the Matron had said. "You were most speedy in returning to me". Chummy had just smiled. She knew this village of old and a quite trip up the public path across old farmer Killen's land had done the trick. Thankfully the rain from last night had dried so there was not a scrap of mud on her shoes.

As Chummy sat at the small desk in the Sister's office, fountain pen in hand and unfortunately with inky fingers, she worked her way through the list of names and addresses, writing to parents, wives in some cases until she reached the letter where she would write to the parents of one of the officers she had been assigned. She took one of the clipboards that she had been handed some hours ago and turned it around so she could read the content. It was marked with the number 'two'.

Carefully she read over the brief details, stowing the name away for that evening when she would meet her second charge.

_Date of birth: 25 November 1925, Bow, London. _

She frowned. 19 years of age; a matter of months between them. How horrific the sights he must have seen whilst she sat sewing cushions.

_Medical History: Injuries sustained 26 September 1944. Significant burns to right clavicle, pectoris, cervical and thoracic spine (right side only). Surgical intervention required on five occasions to debride infection (now seemingly resolved) and healing satisfactorily. Noteworthy extensive tender scarring (rigid over the clavicle, pectoris and shoulder tip) and will continue to require active convalescence and ?further surgical division to ensure agility in the joint. Medication (Liquid Morphine BD and Nocte) remains required for analgesia. Will require PRN for breakthrough pain (please prescribe as you see fit). Otherwise settled, save mental state unclear as understandably subdued disposition and does require encouragement in eating habits and social dealings. _

_Family History: Parents alive and aware (please inform of location on removal) _

_One sibling (brother) deceased 24 September 1944. Parents and patient aware._

She sighed. Most of it made sense from what she had read from the medical books in Pa's study and the library and she knew she would have to quickly learn. Picking up her pen to write again, she smoothed out the notepaper, embossed in bronze with the name of Manor. In front of her as she began to write the standard words that she had been given, something settled in her stomach that she could at least tell these parents that whatever injuries their son had, at least this child was safe.

_"__Dear Mr and Mrs Noakes"… _

The first time she met their son he was walking gingerly towards her, right arm wrapped up in a sling and blue eyes that were red, swollen and surrounded by a blackness that she could only go so far as she could imagine. He was thin, clothes hanging off him and all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him. For a second she wondered if this was a good idea at all; whether she might survive looking in their eyes entirely unable to imagine what they had endured and whether she might just break down in tears. '_Why are you thinking these things, you silly girl. You'll struggle to say two words to him don't you realise?'_ Chummy mentally kicked herself. _ 'Don't be such a goose. Would he want your misguided sympathy?'._

"Private Noakes?" she asked, clipboard in hand, voice wobbling as she spoke her words. "I'm Auxiliary Browne. Would you come this way?"

He did not look at her and just nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

"Thank you" were the first and only words the soldier offered to her as she showed him to his bed, at the end of the ward, closest to the grand fireplace that was now frankly sparkling since the cleaner's close shave. His voice was quiet, croaky and tired.

He had shaken his head at her question as to whether he wanted anything more as she settled him in, noticing the meticulous, almost obsessive arranging of his meagre belongings onto the bedside table and into the drawer with his one useful arm.

She decided to leave him be, dismissed when he was to be examined by the Doctor who simply looked through her as though she did not exist when he arrived at the bedside, and let him sleep. Chummy made him a cup of tea and left a jug of water, even though he indicated he wanted nothing, and left, her jobs for the day now concluded.

On arriving back home she was positively bursting to tell someone, anyone, of her day. She was enthused, despite her misgivings, and even if it was only for a week, that week would have a routine and purpose and just something to occupy her and she just_ needed_ to tell someone.

"Camilla?" came a voice from the sitting room as she tried to sneak past, knowing it was almost seven o'clock and that was when, usually, her mother would take to the front room for another chapter of whichever novel she was reading this week. She had hoped to slip up upstairs to bathe without being noticed. Chummy's exuberance seeped away and out of her skin, lost, as she heard her mother.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, as Chummy opened the door and stood just inside, feet away from her mother but not feeling she could approach any further.

"Yes Mater", she replied, hands clasped across her middle.

"Do you intend to go back tomorrow?" her mother asked abruptly, still looking at her novel, not raising her eyes to her daughter.

"Yes Mater", she replied, having seen nothing to turn her against the place. Then again, she had only been there for a day.

"Hmm….." Lady Browne replied. It was almost a snort. "I believe that Mrs Green has left you some supper. Ring for her and she will bring it up". So that was that then.

"No" Chummy replied. "It's quite alright Mater, I will go down".

Her mother sighed. "If you wish". Yes, that was that.

Chummy turned tail and walked to the back of the house, opening the door that would ultimately lead her down another corridor and into the kitchen. The back door was open and there was a fresh breeze which greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen, empty of life.

"Hello dear" came a voice a minute later from behind her.

"Hello Mrs Green" Chummy replied, turning and moving out of the way of their cook, who had a basket of fresh vegetables in her arms . "Mater said you saved some supper for me?"

"I did" she replied setting the basket down. "Let me get it for you".

Chummy sat at the bare kitchen table. "Do you mind if I eat it here?" she asked, not keen on the dining room on her own. The room was so large it was eerie when you sat, alone, at the table.

"No. Of course not. I could do with the company while I wash this veg" Mrs Green replied, gesturing vaguely at the overstuffed basket. Chummy could see potatoes, carrots, a swede, two turnips and possible a cabbage buried underneath, a 'thank you' to their cook for taking in laundry from the farm. She would be making the household a hearty soup with it.

"I heard your brother say you were up at the Manor" she continued.

"Yes" Chummy replied before a thought struck her. She had not asked after Mrs Green's two sons for a good three weeks and it shamed her. "Have you heard from Michael and James recently?"

She saw her smile proudly. "I had a letter from Michael just yesterday. He is in France and well, for James, no news is good news. Last time I heard from him he was in Amsterdam but that was months ago".

A stew was placed in front of her, still a good temperature from where it had been kept in the oven. A jar of pickled beetroot was placed beside it. "I kept some back from those brothers of yours!"

"Thank you" Chummy replied smiling. One of Mrs Green's stews without beetroot was a positive nightmare.

"So what have they got you doing?" she asked, filling the sink with water to clean the veg. "Not cleaning out the po's I hope!"

Chummy shook her head, although no doubt bedpans were to come. "Making drinks, fetching and carrying, getting food from the kitchen, settling people in" she said, opening up the jar of beetroot, fishing inside with a fork and adorning her supper.

"Anyone in particular?" Mrs Green asked.

"They've assigned me one person to look after. No nursing but making sure he's alright" Chummy replied. Yes that was just about it. Making sure he was 'alright'.

"Does he have name and is he alright?" Mrs Green inquired, hands deep in scrubbing the potatoes she had removed from the basket.

"Private Peter Noakes" Chummy offered, before pausing, forkful of stew on its way to her mouth. "And I don't know"

"You don't know?"

"No" Chummy replied, sadly, leaning her fork back down. "I think he's said two words since he arrived".

"He's bound to be quiet, whoever he is" the cook replied. "Last time Michael came home on leave he barely said a word until it was time to go again. Something was stopping him; like something had stolen his voice box".

"I wish I could get him to say more", Chummy pondered, slowly making her way through her supper realising she would have to eat as soon it would be cold again and she was hungry.

"He will", she replied, gesturing with damp hands. "Just you wait and see. Michael might have been my boy but it was almost like he had to trust me again; " trust me that I'd just listen to him". A thought struck her. "How bad are his injuries?"

"Burns on his back and shoulder" she said, not wanting to reel out what she had actually read.

"Burns are hell on earth, my dear. Our little Lizzie was pushed into a fire when we were kids" Mrs Green started, remembering her red haired sister and that horrific accident on a bonfire. "They were surprised she lived, but the pain! You could see it in her eyes, the way she walked, sometimes she couldn't even whisper it was that bad. Give him time and your patience. He'll talk".

Chummy smiled, reassured. Her offer to help with the soup after she had finished her supper was refused and she went upstairs for an early bath and bed.

She slept well that night, exhausted without realising how much of a long day she had had, but she still woke with the dawn, excitement bubbling in her stomach rather than the usual flutters of anxiety. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she would to walk to the Manor in the morning instead. It might not do her good if she was seen arriving every day in a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. Her mother's annoyed sigh was enough when she told her.

"Ah! There you are Auxiliary Browne" came a voice from behind her as she made her way to the small staff room to hang up her coat. She turned to find Matron Banks.

"A quick job for you before you take up your duties. I have heard that the Auxiliary who was meant to arrive tomorrow has in fact arrived today. She is with Sister Prince. Could you find her and tell her that I will need to speak to her too and I am sure you can arrange between the two of you where your divided duties will lay".

"Yes Matron, we can".

"Good" the Matron replied. "Now on your way. There are breakfast trays still to be brought up from the kitchen".

She was actually quite impressed with the girl. Lady Browne was not quite a friend, more an acquaintance of sorts, and she could never quite read her. There always had to be a motive or a means being most of the Ladyship's behaviour and she had wondered for a moment what was to transpire this time with the approach for her only daughter to spend a week at the Manor. If she had her way, she would be there for as long as she was needed and it had annoyed her that for some reason, Lady Browne thought her daughter could simply dip in and dip out as her mother felt like it as though caring for these men was a jape. The girl wasn't afraid of work though and seemed quite a pleasant young lady.

Wheeling a trolley from the kitchen, as she was to deliver breakfasts to those who were capable, Chummy proceeded down the middle of the ward but was stopped by the Sister. She could just see, five or so feet away, that Private Noakes was sitting up in bed, but dozing.

"Auxiliary Browne this is Auxiliary Cooper". Chummy and the girl exchanged polite nods. "I have already spoken to Auxiliary Cooper and that you have been attending to two officers whilst we waited for her company. I have carried out introductions".

"Yes Sister", Chummy replied, hands resting on the trolley.

"You both have your duties" the Sister continued before she moved away. Chummy raised her head and smiled, trying to be polite to this stranger. She was never any good at inception of conversation.

"Matron Banks has asked that you go and see her" Chummy started. "Her office is down the corridor by the front door on the l.."

"I know" the girl replied, cutting her off before she nodded her head back towards the end bed before she walked away.

"And you can keep the one that barely says a word".


	4. Chapter 4

Secretly, Chummy was quite pleased that she 'kept' Private Noakes. He certainly was quiet but she didn't mind; she was just as subdued herself sometimes. Normally struggling around the male of the species this one was not talking back at her and her just rattling on to him about what she was doing somehow made it easier.

Yes it was simpler to speak _at_ someone rather than have to converse and it made her quite relieved. She had no idea what she would be like if he did actually start talking back.

Ever so carefully she lifted the jug of water that had become warm overnight and put it on the trolley she had wheeled to the end of his bed containing his breakfast. He looked asleep still. Such a shame the breakfast would go cold now and she really did not feel he could be awakened. Despite how careful she had been, the clank of the glass jug on the trolley stirred him.

"So sorry" she whispered. Always apologising for her presence. _Always_ and silently he noted it.

He smiled slightly at her, eyes watching her every move and, even though she was sure he did not mean it, it made her feel uncomfortable that anyone would even want to be looking at what she was doing.

"Your breakfast is here" she said, trying to sound jolly, trying to exude some kind of enthusiasm in him. He didn't respond, even though she knew he was listening.

"Should I just leave it on the table?" she asked. "Unless you need any help?

"Yes" he replied, "and no, no help". He was already sitting up, sleeping better that way as it took pressure off his shoulder, so she didn't need to help him, other than to put the tea, toast and cereal on the over bed table.

She smiled. "Let me at least pour your tea". She was about to say 'in case you might burn yourself' but something stopped her before the words foolishly fell from her mouth. If she wanted him to trust her making comments like that would just be the end of it all before it began.

He nodded again. "I need to go and fetch you some fresh water" she said. "If you need me I'll be back".

By the time she returned, having cleared up the rest of the breakfast dishes from the most of the ward, the toast was half eaten, the pat of butter untouched and the knife clean. An attempt had been made at the porridge oats although the tea cup had been drained.

She gave him an apprehensive smile.

"I never liked porridge oats either" she offered remembering the notes she had read. _'Does require encouragement in eating habits'_

"The bally things always tasted like one was chewing something left behind in a stable".

For the first time she saw a real smile followed rapidly by a wince of pain as he accidentally lifted his shoulder from the bed.

"They did look dry, but our milk is rationed to get us through. I'll make sure there's a drop more in tomorrow for you" she said, glad she had achieved a smile. Normally her jokes were left with blank looks and increasing humiliation on her behalf. "Or I could just leave it in the kitchen if you don't like them". It wasn't a question as the look on his face told her to.

She poured him another cup of tea as at least that seemed to be going down well. She would have to remind the nurse that he was late with his analgesia . It was already quarter to nine.

"Auxiliary Browne!" came a voice from half way up the ward, careful not to be so loud as to wake other patients that were still dozing. "Come along!" Chummy left his bedside quickly and stood to attention by the nurses' desk, praying her cap was still aligned and there were no marks on her pinafore.

"It would seem that your charge will have visitors today" she was told by a nurse who clearly knew her, but was a stranger otherwise. "What hours are visiting Browne?"

"Two until half past four Nurse" Chummy replied.

"See if you can assist in getting him respectable. I understand the visitor is a repatriated soldier. A Riley Johnson. Would you care to tell him?"

"Yes Nurse".

She walked back down to his bedside and delivered the news.

"He got his hand blown off by a grenade" Peter offered quietly.

Chummy shuddered. The first real words he had said to her and it was of someone else's horrific injury.

"By a grenade?" she asked, voice at sixes and sevens. Most of the soldiers here were being rehabilitated, one or two on the ward upstairs were far more badly injured. Having read of the field hospitals in the newspaper, she couldn't bare to think of nursing somebody on the front line. She wouldn't know how to.

He nodded. "He got sent back months ago".

"He's a good friend?" she asked, pouring him another glass of water.

"Known him since we were three" he offered, opening up talking of a friend.

"Visitors are this afternoon. You could always sit out?" she offered. He had been stuck in bed for too long now.

"I'll see". The burst of engagement was gone and he turned his head away.

"Hello! Hello!" came a voice from the end of his bed some hours later. "Never thought you'd see this old mug again did you?"

"Bloody hell!" he also heard. "There's half the man if ever there was one". In fact the visitor was genuinely shocked to see how thin his friend and comrade looked.

Peter couldn't think of a retort and stretched out his left hand to Riley to shake. He hadn't sat out of bed like she suggested and he was pleased she only asked once.

"How did you know I was here?" He knew the letter to his parents wouldn't have reached its destination that quick let alone it getting around the neighbours.

"George Walters brother is here too" Riley replied, gesturing up towards the ceiling and the other ward upstairs."Went to visit him yesterday and he said he thought he saw you on your way in. Made some inquiries and you have me in all my rotund glory! Staying in a pub about half a mile away".

"You in a pub?!" Peter chuckled quietly.

"Can't get leathered" Riley noted. "Doctor's orders, although a stiff brandy would be handy!" He waved his bad side in the air. Black humour was sometimes the only way.

They didn't talk of their injuries as the visit wore on. There was something unsaid about it. An area that was not addressed or pursued and instead it was friends, parents and missing the East End.

Peter saw her walking down the middle of the ward before she arrived the first word being 'Sorry!' as she arrived at his bedside. It was almost twenty past four and she had thought his visitor might have left.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

"Another cup of tea would go down a treat?" Riley offered handing his cup to her.

"Peter?"

"Yes please".

She smiled at him. He seemed a bit brighter and this friend visiting seemed to have done him the world of good, at least on the face of it.

"Aye aye!" Riley whispered making sure she was out of earshot. "Only here for a day and a half and you've got a bit on the side already!"

"Riley leave it" Peter replied feeling strangely defensive at the accusation.

"So do you want me to tell Jean you are here when I get back to London?" he asked, referring to the fiancee that he had left behind.

"Yes please" Peter asked. "Mum'll probably tell her but yes, make sure".

Another four days passed and Chummy had seen the visitors list for Saturday next. Noakes - Jean Glover bracket fiancee bracket. Why she was interested or feeling that slight stab of hurt she would never know. Slowly and surely she had coaxed more conversation from him and had even persuaded him to let her take him outside, just to sit in the gardens, but as midweek tea time drew on his eyes were closing; the ward still murmuring with voices. The pain in his back and shoulder had numbed since the morphine had been delivered in a short sharp jab in his backside.

"What's that?" Peter asked seeing a glass bottle in her hands, voice slightly slurred from the opioid effect as she stood by him.

"Its methylated spirit" Chummy replied as she put the bottle on the bedside table.

"It makes a change from tea and water" he joked, watching her trying to turn his head from the stiffness in his shoulder, fighting sleep as he wanted to speak to her. Chummy knew she shouldn't laugh and nodded briefly.

"You can smile y'know" he said trying to catch her eye. "I won't tell the dragon". Sister Prince had gained a nickname, whispered from bed to bed between soldiers.

"What's your proper name Nurse?"

"I'm not a nurse" she replied, conscious that under no circumstances were they to be known by anything more than their surnames.

"You're looking after me so you're a Nurse. Tell me. I won't call you it. I'd just like to know". She'd noticed he could put on an appealing look.

"Camilla" she replied. "But every one calls me Chummy after my surname. Pa - my father - gave me the nickname because of our surname".

"Which is?" he asked.

"One daren't!" she carried on, switching her head around to see if their conversation was being overheard. He just looked at her.

"Fortescue-Cholmondley-Browne. But I just use Browne".

"Not surprised!" he replied frowning. No wonder she talked like she did.

"If I could call you Camilla, I'd call you that not Chummy".

Now she was embarrassed, flustered and what was it that made it so easy to speak to him?

"What's that for then if its not for drinking?" he asked, seeing her hesitation. "Someone did that the other day and didn't explain".

"Pressure care" Chummy replied. "It stops your skin breaking. Elbows, heels, sacrum".

"What's a sacrum?"

Chummy could feel her skin go red and she turned away, ostensibly to lay out cotton wool into a kidney dish. She should never have said it. Rattled was not the word.

"Just a little bit lower than the base of your spine" she muttered, trying to concentrate on the beside table in front of her, desperate not to catch his eye or allow him to catch hers.

"Oh for me aris" he said casually.

"Aris?" she replied, unable to stop turning her head towards him to ask the question.

"Yes. _Aris_totle, bottle, bottle and glass and you end up with arse".

"Rhyming slang?" she questioned as he nodded. "Is there one for nurse?" she asked, wondering what on earth it could be if there was one as curiosity got the better of her.

"I don't think there is" he replied, yawning through the combination of tiredness and morphine. "Well except Angel".

She looked at him confused. "But that's my rhyming slang and it doesn't rhyme anyway".

She knew that the morphine was talking now. It had to be. She saw him shift to one side waiting for the inevitable indignities of hospital life. That was usually where needles went, not methylated spirits.

"Oh!" she exclaimed voice high, waving her hand at him. "Not me! I'm not allowed to. It's a nursing procedure"

"Rubbing alcohol into bits only me Mum's seen for years isn't nursing".

"Well it is in here!" she replied quickly, still not able to look him in the eye, particularly as he was readjusting the tie of his pyjama bottoms. "Nurse Robertson will be here soon".

"Is she the one with the black curly hair?" he asked.

"Yes"

Peter pulled a face. "She's got hands like sandpaper" he sighed. "She did it last time".

He lifted his left hand fingertips touching the watch she wore, careful not to make contact with her skin. "Your hands don't look like hers"

_'Yes', she thought. 'They haven't seen a days hard work in their life'._

"Can't you do it?" She was about to tell him not to be silly when the curtain swung back.

"When you have finished conversing with my patient Auxiliary Browne, I would hope that that cotton wool is perfect and you have remembered the spirit?"

"Yes Nurse" Chummy replied, shooting around, very nearly taking the bottle of spirit with her.

"Very well. You may leave. I do not require assistance"

"Yes Nurse". Chummy shot away, feeling inconspicuous and wondering whether the Nurse had seen his fingertips close to her skin. She had not noticed until she was sent away that that tiny patch of skin was tingling.

If she did see there was little hope she would be still here tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

She could smell the spirit a mile off. It was like the whole ward had been doused in it let alone the patients. It was almost nine o'clock and she was about to leave for the night but she would just check he was asleep. He wasn't.

"Are you here for a long time?" he asked, the walk to the toilet and back with one of the nurses having thoroughly taken it out of him and she was helping him back into bed.

"No", she replied, tidying around him, making sure those hospital corners were still ship shape and free of criticism. "My brother's getting spliced on Thursday next week and Mat…mother needs me to help so my last day is tomorrow. Just for half a day, but its to help in the office". She was actually quite sad about it as this week had disappeared far too quickly. It wasn't so much the work, it was the routine; having a purpose with a place to go, jobs to do and at the end of it all, tiredness within her bones that she relished as she lay comfortable in her bed having had a productive day.

"Oh" he remarked and she could actually hear the sadness in his voice. "But you are coming back after that?" He could hope.

She shook her head, smoothing down the blanket by his feet. "I don't think so".

"Ah Auxiliary Browne just the person". Peter had spotted the Matron before she did.

"Yes Matron?" Chummy replied, turning around on her heels.

"You and I need to have a conversation" the Matron said sternly, gesturing at her to join her.

Chummy's face dropped. This had to be it. Nurse Robertson must have seen the touch of his fingertips. She shot off not thinking, mind occupied and forgetting to say goodnight to him. She trailed after Matron Banks back out of the ward, following at what she thought was a respectful distance and into her office.

"Mater!" Chummy breathed as she saw her mother's back, seated in the Matron's office. _This was it, it had to be. Mater knows and I will never be able to raise my head here again.  
_

"Camilla dear" her mother said, still with that tight smile.

"Your mother and I have had quite the conversation about you" Matron Banks offered as she walked around her desk to take up her seat. Chummy sat bolt upright in the seat next to her mother. There it was the skipping in her chest back with a vengeance.

_"So how is my daughter Matron?"_

_"I find she is really quite competent Lady Browne. __There is one patient in particular who is responding to her most satisfactorily".  
_

_"__Really?" Lady Browne would not admit that she was surprised to anyone, having not quite known what to expect; whether her daughter had any kind of spark in her to last this week._

_"__Yes. A young lad from the East End of London. Not too far off in age, either. She seems to be able to get him to co-operate without much trouble"._

_"East End of London?" her mother had sneered. "__Should one be concerned?"_

_The Matron had looked at her puzzled not quite sure whether she was casting aspersions on the lad's birthplace or the fact she had struck up a workable friendship it seemed with a man, well, barely a man; a boy who had seen the horrors of war that would age him beyond his years. "My staff are professional Lady Browne and I do consider your daughter to be a member of my staff for the week that she is here. She is fully aware of her boundaries and I have no reason to think otherwise"._

"Your mother and I were talking and I have asked her if, once your brother's celebrations are over, if you would consider coming back and helping us all the way up to Christmas?"

Chummy was unable to articulate what was running through her mind before her mother interrupted.

"I am so finding little occupation for you Camilla and really the season is winding down until the Christmas when hopefully this blessed war may be over". It wasn't her mother's express permission but it was the closest she was going to get.

"Of course I will!" Chummy smiled, trying to disguise the excitement in her voice as it wouldn't be polite and undoubtedly would invite some barb or two from her mother that any expression of joy was to be kept firmly behind closed doors.

"There you seem to have your answer Matron" Lady Browne said.

"Excellent" the Matron replied. "I do believe when you return next week that I might ask if you could assist in the remediation of your charge's injuries. His cooperation is limited but the Doctors would like to see a swift improvement. Would you care to assist? It will be exercise, encouragement for fresh air..."

"If I could…?" Chummy replied.

"I think I have more use for you Auxiliary Browne than making cups of tea" the Matron remarked, smiling. "You will be taught how to assist when you return".

"Yes Matron". Perhaps the girl did not see but the Matron had noticed she had quite the ease around the bedside. It seemed natural even.

Responsibility though. Someone intent on giving her responsibility and it was a wonderful revelation. Someone placing trust in her and it was marvellous. Chummy knew she could be capable and even these last few days had instilled a level of confidence in her that she had never experienced. Before it was as though nobody - well her mother primarily - believed she had the sense to take on a task and finish it well.

_'No Camilla you will not do that on your own! It will end up in the usual debacle!'_

_'Camilla, come away from that! You will just break it!'_

Back in the Rolls Royce, her mother ostensibly having come to speak to the Matron out of a genuine interest - or perhaps that annoying feeling that she did not know what the child was doing with her days - and they had fallen into conversation.

"Mater?" Chummy asked as they sat at opposite ends of the black leather seat.

"Yes Camilla?"

"Did the Matron ask you if I could stay?"

"She did" her mother replied. "She pleaded that you were of great assistance and you know that I like to engage with charitable activities". Whether her mother intended it or not it came out as entirely condescending. It was as though Chummy was meant to be grateful. In truth, however, when she thought about it, she was grateful as it had given her occupation; had given her a reason and, even though when she knelt by her bed that night asking for forgiveness, it gave her a few more weeks in his company.

Was that good though? The questions plagued her as she tried to sleep. Was it right she had that feeling sitting at her shoulders? Things she should not be thinking swirled in head. Overthinking. As usual. Men, boys, looked at her as though she had two heads, even with her mothers best endeavours. She flapped, tongue-tied and confused as to why she had to be the subject of a 'match' and not understanding why she was looked at that way. Of all things, she knew she wasn't pretty, didn't have that flowing hair or delicate nature that all the others seemed to have and certainly, oh so certainly, did not fit as she was meant to. Chummy knew what her mother's expectations of her were and how she wished she did not feel so...so..._insignificant._

He didn't look at her like that though. She didn't know what the look was he was giving her, except it was different to those usual stares and sideways glances. Quickly, guilt embedded itself and she fiddled with the buttons on her nightdress, extracting the crucifix that never left her neck. Wrapping her hand around the gold, she closed her eyes and let sleep take her pleading for pardon. She had only known him a week and it was altogether impossible! Perhaps in her innocence she was confusing someone being friendly with perhaps more interest than she was worthy and she would have to give herself a stiff talking to. After all, when he left, she would never see him again anyway.

She sat in the office, freezing cold and poring over letters, sorting them into piles and looking at the visitors list she wrote up a fresh calendar for the Matron for the coming week. To her side the telephone rang.

_'Answer it for me Auxiliary Browne if I am not here. That telephone is the bane of my life!'_

"Snowdon Manor, how can I help you?"

_"Oh 'ello Petal!" came a voice down the line. "I wuz just 'phoning to book meself in for nex' week to see my boy"._

"Could I have your b...your son's name?"

_"Peter..Noakes. I'm Bill his Dad". _Apart from the true East End affectations in his father's voice, they had the same tone._  
_

"Hello Mr Noakes", Chummy replied. "Which day do you plan to come in?"

_"I'm finking Wednesday an' Fursday if I can?"_

"That should be fine" she replied, seeing the visitors list for those two days was still quite empty. "Do you need directions?"

_"I'm stayin' in a Pub called ve Bell an' somefink"._

"The Bell and Whistle?" Chummy asking, knowing it was the only Public House in the village that offered accommodation. "Its about five minutes walk away. The front gate to the Manor is on the same road. Just come out of the Bell and turn left and keep going and you'll find us perfectly well".

_"Ta Petal. You're an angel!"_

Chummy smiled as she replaced the receiver. That's where he must have got it from. Calling her an angel.

Suddenly she shivered. It _was_ freezing in here and she daren't turn the radiator on without permission although she was leaving in an hour anyway. A cup of tea would be perfect and perhaps she would nip into the ward to say hello and tell him she would be back in a week. Even she had realised he sounded deflated when she said she was going away and, as she pushed open the door to the ward, a smile just simmered on her lips.

"Gawn wi' the physiotherapist Princess. Jus' missed 'im" came a strong Scottish voice from across the room.

"Oh" she replied. "Thank you".

She didn't bother with the tea and went back to the office. By the time he came back she would be gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Chummy, quite frankly, felt like skipping up the hill to the Manor but jumping about was unbecoming so Mater said, so she walked. It was a grey winter day, fluffy white clouds were disappearing into dusk and for a change all was well in the world.

She had been asked to come in a day early, well a night early, and she had to wonder why. Perhaps one of the other Auxiliaries was unwell or perhaps there was another patient that needed looking after but the telephone call lightened her heart and her father's subsequent lack of interest when she asked his permission had washed over her shoulders like the fastest flowing river.

Either way, she had missed the Manor with its rattling corridors and noise that seemed to bounce from wall to wall. She quickly hung up her coat and donned her pinafore before knocking politely on the Matron's door. There was no answer. She knocked again, her ear to the door, just in case she was on the telephone. Again nothing.

Chummy sighed. She was in uniform ready to take up her duties so perhaps the Matron was on the ward. She would go and find out.

She turned through the vast double doors, to see the characterless puce green curtains pulled around Private Noakes' bed in it's usual place at the very end of the ward. Her heart sunk and for a moment she did not understand what she thought she was seeing. Curtains, she had learned, were drawn around beds for privacy of visitors during the day and dignity of the dying upstairs and inevitably, the Vicar would visit and she would hear the last rites whispered around her.

"I would suggest Auxiliary Browne that you go and sit with him".

Her head shot around to find the Matron standing by her side, whispering as the ward was settling down to sleep.

"He was taken for surgery this afternoon" she continued.

"Oh" Chummy whispered; more a puff of air than an exclamation.

"He has been quite unwell this week. He required some fluid draining from his lungs and a release of the scar tissue on his shoulder" the Matron explained. "His parents will be here tomorrow". She felt a hand on her elbow, pushing her forward before she could ask any more questions.

Ever so quietly she slipped through a small gap in the curtains, careful to tiptoe on the stone floor. Usually accused of being the thundering elephant she crept as quietly as she could and saw him propped up in bed in an anaesthetic stupor. An oxygen bottle was by the side of the bed, the mask on the bedclothes beside him underneath his fingertips. Thinking he must have pulled it off, she gently extracted it and placed it back over his mouth and nose.

Immediately she saw his left hand move and the brush on her other hand that was supporting her on the side of the bed.

"No" he muttered, turning his head away, blue eyes vague flickering into the dim light as he realised that someone was with him.

"You must" she pleaded, knowing how important the oxygen was for him through sheer common sense.

"No" he persisted, turning his head back to where it had been laid a few moments before.

"Can I rest it on your chest?" she asked, thinking that if she could just get the mask close to him it might do some good.

She thought she saw a nod and very heavy breath, almost as though he was trying to overfill his lungs.

"Where did you go?" he asked. "You weren't here". It wasn't accusatory in any form but just a question. After all she knew she did not get the chance to say goodbye last time.

"I couldn't be here" she replied, pulling over the chair by his bedside so she could sit with him just as the Matron asked. "My brother's wedding?"

_Peter_ frowned. "On Thursday at St Mary's" she clarified and she saw a vague nod.

"I listened out for the bells all week". The church was perhaps four hundred yards away from the Manor and you could hear the bells from miles around. She smiled but all she might want to do was cry. He looked like he did again when she first met him. Grey, haggard, in pain and so desperately thin and alone. The smiles she might have hoped to have seen tonight were gone and she did not know how to get them back.

"Matron says you've had to have fluid off your lungs".

"Did I?" he replied.

She daren't tell him his parents were coming tomorrow. It didn't sound like a planned visit in the hushed way the Matron had imparted the news. It felt like an emergency. She knew she had to stay with him, Matron had said so, and something would drive her to stay awake and sit here all night if she had to.

"When are you getting married?" she asked, trying to start to make conversation even though it was firmly a first. "Have you set a date?" Perhaps talking about home might brighten him.

"Set for if I came back" he replied, eyes still hovering between sleep and wakefulness. "That was when".

"Did she visit on Saturday?" She being the fiancée that Chummy had seen written on the visitors list.

"No". The 'excuse' had been delivered by the Sister that the Glover grandmother was unwell. In his state, Peter accepted it as he simply did not have the fight to question. Chummy nodded again as after all it was not particularly her business to ask or inquire further.

"Would _you_ come and visit me?" he asked suddenly and Chummy would admit for a moment she was confused. She was here already. "If I was in Hospital, you come to see me?"

"I would" she whispered, to her surprise meaning it rather than trying to make him feel better.

"Every day?"

"I will" she said intent on staying as long as she could at the Manor now. She didn't realise that he was starting to wander, vocalising the apparently random thoughts that were running through his head.

"If you married me, you'd visit, but you won't" he continued, every single word seeming to be an effort as he tried to fight between sleep and pain.

"I won't?" she questioned, momentarily panicked to boot and wondering what on earth was coming out of his mouth.

"Marry me" he mumbled.

She nearly laughed out of some kind of nervous shock but the gravity on his face silenced her. "We've only known of each other barely two weeks".

"Have we?" She could see he was struggling to think. "No... it's longer than that". Peter was sure it was longer than that; years even, or at least it felt like it was. Chummy didn't want to correct him. He probably wouldn't remember their conversation in a few days anyway and he had started to ramble.

"I don't think I will ever get married" she sighed sadly. "Nobody will want to".

"Then they're fools" he muttered, slowly but surely drifting back into sleep eyes becoming heavier as each moment passed.

"I'm here to look after you, bring you endless cups of tea and make your bed" she replied, wanting to change the subject; to divert it from something that quite frankly terrified her and she could so easily misunderstand.

"You help me and…" he breathed in quickly again, catching his breath again. She put the oxygen mask, still hissing away, slightly closer. "Will you help me?"

"Matron says I have to help you with your arm exercises. That's why I came back. You have to be up with the lark and fighting fit for your wedding".  
He sighed loudly and she was sure she could hear a watery rattle in his chest.

"I'd like to go to the pictures again" he continued and she felt his palm rest on the back of her hand. She hoped against hope that he could not feel that her hand was shaking. "Can we go the pictures tonight?"

"There isn't a cinema in the village" she replied, matter of factly. In reality there was very little in this backwater of a hamlet at all to entertain a person and it was most grim.

"I'd like to go now". Quickly she cottoned on and realised she should humour him; the soporific effect of morphine and anaesthetic in combination was almost sending him delirious if he thought they were fit to go the pictures.

"What would you like to see?" she asked.

"The Maltese Falcon" he replied as emphatically as he could manage.

She had heard of it. Vaguely. Mater never let her go to the cinema but she had heard that her brothers had been to see it when they were all on leave in London.

"That's just perfect" she said. "We'll go".

He smiled at her, eyes still closed. "Then we'll go for a walk and we can sit by the lake outside" he carried on, voice gradually becoming more and more slurred.

Chummy thought for a second. Lake? What lake? There was a fountain, but no lake within miles and certainly nowhere where Peter would have been this last week or so.

"I'd like that too". It was out of her mouth quickly. She was still indulging him; or so she perhaps would prefer to think, but the thought of a trip to the cinema and then a walk was quite appealing. That would be most attractive, just to take a simple trip to see a film or to take a walk around the gardens without having to explain her every move or have her friends scrutinized for their suitability.

Chummy was quite glad that Mater had limited interest in her time at the Manor. She felt_ alright_ in his company. _Normal_. It was lunacy though to think the feeling might last or perhaps could be allowed to persist when he or she left this place.

It was, when it came to the bare bones of it, stepping over the line and she had no confidence to do so.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh! Most terribly sorry!" Chummy remarked, finding three people behind the curtains absolutely not realising the time and that visiting had started a few minutes before.

He was looking remarkably brighter than when she left him in the early hours of this morning when he had finally fallen asleep, chest wheezing. It was now late afternoon.

"Just thought you might want this" she continued, gesturing with the crisp white pillow that was pressed to her chest.

Peter smiled and between him and her they managed to lever him for her to place the pillow behind his marred back, plumping it slightly out of habit as he sunk into it, feeling the pressure on his skin momentarily leave.

"Would you like a cup of tea Mr and Mrs Noakes?" she asked addressing his father. Or at least she thought it was his father. The resemblance was quite uncanny.

"Vat'd be lovely, fanks Petal" his father Bill replied. She saw his mother nod. "No sugar vo fanks. Goes around 'is waist" she continued gesturing across the bed to her husband. It only made her smile when she his saw his father's resigned look and Peter trying not to laugh.

Chummy noted too that she would have to ask where his East End accent had gone. There were only trace elements of it and he sounded so different from his parents. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him crumple his nose as well taking it that he wanted tea too.

"I'll be back in two shakes" she replied, stepping away seeing also that they had brought another suitcase, probably for him. Father turned to son, seeing the boy watch her walk away down the end of the ward.

"Son", his Father started. "Don' mess in places like vat". For a moment Peter was confused. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had forgotten his proposal of marriage last night, even though she had not taken him seriously at all and would probably use all methods imaginable to prevent him bringing it back up again; even in jest as the medication causing his mouth to run away with him.

"Vat girl" his father continued.

"Dad…" he started. "She's just friendly".

"No", Bill replied. "Listen to me". He saw his father raise his finger at him. "As much as your Muvver might tell me to shut my trap do not even fink about vat girl".

"Your Dad's right" his mother interrupted. "Jean comes an' visits all vis way and you…" She was about to remind him that he may soon be a married man and she knew her eldest son like the back of her hand.

"She doesn't visit Mum" Peter replied, voice tiring at even the thought. "She cancelled and isn't on the visitors list. Riley phoned yesterday and left a message saying she's gone to Scotland for a holiday and wont be back until just before Christmas. They told me just now".

"Neverveless you stay away" his father said although he could see his mother was quietly digesting the news that the woman her son was about to marry was not making the trip to see him.

"Dad, she looks after me. You and Mum can only come once every few weeks and I'm going to be stuck here until the New Year at least…."

"No" his father repeated through gritted teeth. "Listen to ve way she speaks son. She's one of vem. Not one of us".

Peter sighed. They got on and he liked her. Despite that fact though, little things he learned - that she lived at Hill House, that her father had been knighted and that she spoke more than well with all her idiosyncrasies; he would never be able to work up the nerve regardless.

"Mrs Noakes?" Chummy asked, trying not to hurtle down the corridor to where his mother was standing to catch her before they left.

"Yes Nurse?"

"Sorry to bother you" she started. "Are you going to be coming back soon?"

"We'll 'ave to be careful. Train tickets cost money" she replied. "I know e' needs to see us more often but wiv his dad's leg and ve time it takes to get down 'ere. Comin' back after vis surgery 'e 'ad this week 'as jus' about exhausted Billy…".

"I was wondering", Chummy started, "say no if you think it's a preposterous idea, but Pa has a cottage that he rents for holidaymakers. Its empty at the moment but I'm sure he might let me have the keys for you".

Irene didn't quite know what to make of it all. She could see the boy had a liking for her even if she did want to crack him around the head for having thoughts of other girls whilst there was a perfectly good one back in London, even if she was sparing with her visits.

"How's 'e been?" his mother asked, not wanting to be pushed further.

"Quiet, withdrawn" Chummy replied.

"'E goes like vat sometimes, even when 'e was a little 'un. His bruvver was the life an' soul but 'e frightens me 'ow quiet 'e gets. Even wivout vis War I'd jus' like to get 'im out of 'ospitals an' back home"

"I'll help you as much as I can" Chummy replied and Irene saw something in her eyes. A genuine want and need to help them.

"Let me speak to 'is Dad about ve key" Irene replied, touching her hand to Chummy's arm. Chummy smiled and they parted company as the clock struck five. She had dinners to distribute.

"Nurse?" Peter asked as she walked past him. For the first time she had noticed that his tone was clearer than it had been in hours.

"Yes?" Chummy replied, asked to just check that all visitors had now left and she had now reached the bottom of the ward. The temporary kitchen was the next room along.

"What time is it?" he inquired.

"Just past five o'clock" she responded, thinking it must be about five minutes since she heard the grandfather clock sing out.

"What time's dinner?"

She looked him slightly aghast but pleased in the same breath as it had been the first time to her knowledge he had actually asked for food. "I'm just on my way. Its chicken stew and dumplings and I think cherry pie if you can manage it"

"First time I've been hungry in days" he replied.

"Custard or ice cream?"

"I don't mind". Either would do.

Chummy smiled. "Good"

Just in the hallway, his mother had cornered the Matron.

"Sister did ask if she was intending to visit after the last cancellation but I am afraid Mrs Noakes that she didn't say she would be".

Irene breathed, lips tight. She had thought he had found a good 'un in Jean but you'd think she would at least make the effort.

"Are you staying in the village Mrs Noakes?"

"Yes" Irene replied. "We're stayin' in 've village tonight and 'ven back 'ome tomorrow". She might just take up the offer of the Nurse though. She needed to be by her boy.

Peter hadn't managed to clean his plate. Not eating properly for weeks had certainly made his eyes bigger than his belly. Chummy had heard that if you don't eat your stomach would shrink but she doubted it was true. Still she thought on her way home, just getting some proper food into him was an achievement in itself. His parents visit had clearly done wonders and that made her more determined to see if she could ask her father for the key to the cottage. As she walked up the path she could see him in his study upstairs, lights blazing as he pored over papers.

"Pa?" she asked, popping her head around the open door, seeing him turn in his chair. "Could I ask a favour?"

"It really depends on what that favour is" he replied. She never liked asking him for anything as it usually, after a long winded explanation, ended up with 'no'.

"I was wondering if you might mind if the parents of one of the patients stays in the cottage for a few days. He's not well and they can't travel all the time". She had prepared a speech, a plea, in her head on the walk home but actually facing him, well all her sensibilities and reasoning left her.

"I dare say one could consider it. The place is empty and one does prefer it if it is inhabited from time to time" he said, taking up his pen and turning back to the letter he was writing. "What is so special about them?"

Chummy breathed, taking another step into the room. "They are the parents of the soldier. The one I've been assigned to look after".

"Ah" her father replied. "That is what makes them special. The boy from the East End of London".

"Yes Pa". The tone of her voice must have been obvious, utterly surprised he knew anything about the Manor at all.

"Your mother told me" he replied still not facing her. "Despite what you might think we are at least mildly interested in your time there. Your mother and I are capable of conversing with each other".

"Sorry Pa" she apologised, contrite.

"One does think that we can accommodate them" he stopped. "Mrs Green has the key. I would suggest you speak to her as one imagine it needs an airing".

Chummy didn't smile until she had closed the door firmly behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

"Leaving us Camilla?" she heard as Chummy tried to walk quickly and quietly along the hallway of the house, dressed and ready for another day.

"Yes Mater" she replied, turning on her heels to find her mother in the doorway to the dining room.

"Matron asked me if I could spare some time today" she started. "I know its meant to be my day off but they are having the Christmas tree delivered and…."

"And you intend to go out of this house in trousers?!" her mother asked, looking her up and down with what could only be described as disgust at the comfortable, flat, lace up shoes, navy blue trousers and pale blouse.

"Yes Mater" she replied. "Sister said it would be alright. Its going to be a bally untidy day with the tree and …"

"Very well" her mother replied, cutting her off before she was able to tell her the further plans for the carol singing. Her first job though, was to thoroughly scrub down the floor where the tree would go hence the trousers and old blouse. She daren't tell her mother she would be on her knees with her hands in a bucket of disinfectant for most of the morning.

Her mother turned tail without another word back into the dining room. She could hear the low hum of conversation but chose not to listen.

Chummy stopped by the front door hand resting on the frame, eyes closing, breathing to calm herself out of excitement and anxiety in one confused bundle. She hadn't put up a Christmas tree in years; everyone was going to help and she could feel that sparkle in the air again as the day drew closer.

Peter had improved, at least to her untrained eyes, immensely since the operation. Sister had explained that it was probably the fluid building that had made him the way he was, tired, listless and continually refusing sustenance. He had managed most of three square meals these last few days and had been hankering after fresh air and going outside, even though she had to refuse him for fear of him catching a chill.

"Do you want me to carry that bucket?" a voice came from behind her as she walked to collect the mop and bleach after arriving at the Manor. She had been in her own world, 'Silent Night' somehow now lingering in her head even though she had not heard it anywhere and almost jumped sky high even though the voice was familiar.

"No" she replied, turning to find Peter a few feet behind her. "I'm fine and why are you out of bed?" She regarded him. Now in his own clothes, arm still in a sling but underneath a dark green jumper, his 'spare arm' flapping about and in trousers that were clearly hanging off him. He had watched with some amusement yesterday as his mother unloaded a suitcase full of clothes that she had brought back from Poplar with her most of which were now simply too big.

"I came to find Sister to get a safety pin for this", he said nodding down to the sleeve "and Dad had to put extra holes in my belt".

"Come on, follow me. I can get one". She put the bucket down against the wall and he followed her into the storage room. Peter stood by the door as she bent down to produce a metal tin.

"Later on…." he started, "I was after going to go down to the cottage to see Mum and Dad after I've helped with the tree".

"You know Sister won't let you go on your own or help with the tree" she replied, taking the pin to the sleeve, folding it back on itself and attaching it to the front of his jumper.

"I know I can't go out on my own so I was going to ask whether you'll come with me" he replied, watching what she was doing.

"I'll have to fetch the wheelchair but yes alright" she agreed, smoothing down the sleeve.

"Can't I just walk?"

"No".

It was probably true that he would not realise just exactly how much a walk, even a few hundred yards, would take of him. The furthest he had walked was today, from the ward to the front door to say goodbye to his parents and by the time he returned to his bed, it had been an effort.

"I am helping with the tree though" he replied, trailing after her. "Even if I just stand there holding the box of decorations".

"No" she replied striding on ahead.

They were sitting in the back garden of the cottage, his Mother making tea in the kitchen watching but not watching them as he tried some of the simple exercises to try and build up his arm again. She smiled as she turned off the tap, him smiling through a grimace as the exercises were clearly testing his pain tolerance as well. The girl did seem to be helping him though and fiancee aside, Irene was pleased that he clearly had someone in his hour of need.

He took the blanket from his knee as they rested both realising that pushing these exercises for now was only causing more unnecessary pain. He might feel ninety years old instead of nineteen but had no intentions of looking it. Instead Chummy took the blanket from him and put it on her own lap as it was damn cold on top of the hill, even with the exertion of pushing a wheelchair.

"I just wanted to say thank you for looking after me" he said.

"It's what I'm here for" she replied, casually smiling at him.

"No. I really mean it". From the inside of his jumper he produced what looked like a Christmas card.

"It's left hand writing but I think you can read it" he said, having painstakingly failed to write with his right side last night. "Don't open it until you get home".

She took the card, carefully flipping it over to see her name – her proper name – written in scrawly handwriting. Her three year old nephew could have written it more clearly, she thought disguising a smile.

"I won't" she replied. No, whatever it was that was in that envelope would be opened well away from prying eyes, even if it was just a card with another spidery signature.

She couldn't break away from the look in his eyes though. Watching him lean over, she felt the briefest of touches of his lips on hers. The kiss was over before she had the chance to think, be shocked or feel that she should certainly be pushing him away.

"Thank you" he said quickly wondering when that moment was going to come when she would hurriedly wheel him back to the Manor and never speak to him again.

"No need" she replied, surprised too she had not flown from her seat in shame for allowing him to kiss her.

"No I mean it", he continued fiddling with the sling under his jumper. "I look forward to the day's you're here. It gets me through".

"Your Mum and Dad come….. and Riley".

"They're not the same. When I wake up and there's a cup of tea for me, or extra pillows and we did have fun decorating that tree today..."

He had stood steadfastly as she climbed up the rickety stepladder and putting the box of baubles on the top of the mantelpiece he had handed them to her one by one followed by handfuls and handfuls of icicles. Chummy had gained the help of two more soldiers too, one of whom was quietly singing what could only be described as version of 'Whilst Shepherds Watched Their Flocks' you would not utter in front of the Vicar. She had giggled along with the rest of them though as no-one was watching her.

"I'm erm…" Chummy started, not able to keep his gaze. "I only have a few more days left".

"I know" he replied sadly. "Sister told me but they've said I can be discharged just after the New Year too".

"Really?" She was so pleased.

"I'd like to stay until then but Pa is taking us to Ireland for New Year" she said, not particularly looking forward to seeing her aunts in Dublin at all.

"And I'd like to kiss you again, but you won't let me will you?" He knew he was pushing his luck the first time; but then again he doubted she would slap an injured man so it was worth the chance.

"No" she squeaked, "and besides you're getting married".

"I don't think I am" he replied, resigned to a conversation that he would feel he would have to have when he returned to London. Who would promise to marry someone and not visit them when they needed them? He knew he had changed since he last laid eyes on Jean Glover and realised that his hasty fearful proposal may not have been the best advised.

"She's not on the list again?"

"No"

Their little fingers were an inch apart. He nodded in resignation. "No harm done. Was there harm done?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"Can you wheel me back inside then?"

Later than night, safe in bed and sure that all her 'goodnights' had been said, Chummy delved into her bedside cabinet. She had tucked the note into the draw as soon as she had gone up to change for supper but dependent on its content, she may have to find another hiding place for it sooner rather than later. She was frightfully nervous of its contents after the fact of that kiss. She knew they got on well; it had surprised her how easy it was to have a conversation with him but why on earth would he looked at _her_ any other way? Taller than him even at eighteen, ungainly, and so used to being ignored. Chummy took a deep breath and peeled back the seal to find, yes it was, a Christmas card with an angel in white robes flowing majestically behind.

He was right about the handwriting she thought as she read her name again, but it was also an address.

_Camilla, Happy Christmas and Thank You. Peter._

___34 Reeves Road, Poplar. _

Was he asking her to write to him? Visit him? He kissed her and suddenly the realisation washed over her at last. The first time she had been kissed by, well, anyone and despite herself, she wished he had done it again.

How would she face him in the morning? It was simply not done and she knew it.


	9. Chapter 9

She felt sick. Not sick enough to actually be sick but bilious with nerves.

Chummy had placed the card back into his envelope and wrapped it in an old slip that she had not worn for years as it had crept up past her knees long ago. The slip with its cargo had found itself at the back of a drawer in her dresser. Out of sight.

It, and the events of yesterday however, were not out of mind. She couldn't telephone the Manor and cry off her duties today; Mater would insist on the Doctor visiting and that was the very last thing she wanted. The Doctor in the village she knew of old and she was still not entirely over him charging after her with an ear syringe when she was seven and had run for her life into the garden only to be cornered by the rose bushes.

Perhaps with his parents not so far away he might be spending some time visiting with them or perhaps he might be thinking of...She paused clear she was struggling for excuses. He'd be there and she would have to ingest her shame and talk to him, stay with him and do precisely what she had been doing these last few weeks - caring. Perhaps, she thought as she walked up the shale path to the front door, she had been caring too much and this was why she was in this blasted hole. It was only three more days though and even she could manage that she hoped.

Peter was not in bed when she arrived, the Hospital corners neat and apart from a cardigan hanging on the back of the chair and a half drunk glass of water you might never think he was there at all. Around her everyone was getting on quietly with their days, beds made, breakfasts begin devoured and the silver icicles on Christmas tree were twinkling in the early morning winter sun.

"Hello Nurse. Just been on the phone to my Nan. Dad's Mum" she heard from behind her as she turned towards the voice.

Why was he acting so normal?

"Can we go for another walk today? Sit in the gardens?" Peter carried on as he walked to his bed, feeling quite bushy tailed this morning whilst Chummy was stuttering to catch up. He'd fallen asleep before his night painkillers and had slept, for the first time in a long time, for 5 hours at a stretch before he needed that numbing feeling again as his marred skin stretched in protest as he woke in the darkened ward as someone somewhere had shouted in distress as another nightmare gripped their soul.

"I don't know" she replied. "It looks like it might just tip it down later".

He looked out of window. It was a bit grey but that was about it. "Please" he said, going to pick up the half drunk glass of water to throw it down the sink at the end of the ward.

"Alright" she replied, holding out her hand for the glass. "After lunch".

"No", he continued, reusing to hand it over. "I'll take it". He needed to achieve some kind of normality,even if it was just rinsing out a drinking glass.

Peter wandered off past her again and for a moment she felt entirely redundant. She was there to look after him, wash those glasses, fetch and carry then she remembered the Sister's words.

_"__As much encouragement as you can Auxiliary Browne in his day to day dealings. You are aware that the Hospital in London were concerned with his quietness and demeanour". _

Chummy picked herself up as he walked back; a brief smile playing across his face.

"I er, " he said quietly. "I wanted to go for a walk because I wanted to speak to you privately".

"Oh yes?" She sounded like she had a frog in her throat.

"After lunch though?" he said, not wanting to say what he had to say in front of others. She nodded dumbly.

"And I am not going out in the wheelchair" he added emphatically, determined to walk.

"Auxiliary! Are you planning on standing there all day like a lost soul?" The question eventually pierced her subconscious, realising that the Nurse was referring to her as her brain slowly caught up.

"No Nurse" Chummy replied, swinging round, embarrassed she had been caught idle.

"Good" the Nurse replied. "As Private Noakes is on his feet" she started, looking him up and down. "You can help me with Private May. You need to locate him. I think he may be smoking in the court yard so fetch him for me and then you can assist me as his bag needs changing".

"Yes Nurse" Chummy responded. Private May's colostomy first thing in the morning. All she needed.

"I wanted to apologise. For yesterday" were the first words he said when they were far enough away from the house to not be seen, sitting in the kitchen garden on a bench shrouded by trees and tucked discreetly behind one of the towering walls.

At first she was not entirely sure what he had to be apologizing for until he clarified.

"Mum saw us. Yesterday in the garden".

"What?" she whispered, heart racing starting to panic. What had she seen? The fact they were talking and getting along as he did his exercises or the fact that her son kissed her?

"She won't say anything but she did tell me to apologise to you and promise that I won't do it again" he replied, suitably contrite after the ticking off he received. He sounded about six years old being told off for pinching sweets rather than expressing a fancy.

_"I don' care if your injured son, you don' go inteferin' wiv girls like vat. The girls' your bluddy nurse an_' _if 'er Dad were to evver find out! Look at ve money ve've got; rentin' cottages and the likes. I saws 'im yesterday in one of vem Rolls Roycers when 'e came to see if we're settlin' in orright". _She felt like clouting him.

"You said you wanted to again". She was actually, to her mild horror at allowing such feelings to surface, disappointed.

"And you said no" he replied.

It was all so desperately confusing. She liked his company. A lot. She did enjoy helping him. A lot. It was all still so wrong in the same breath. He was vulnerable; she was in a position of trust albeit firmly on the bottom rung. Chummy had no idea what to say. Besides, was he confusing gratitude with something else? Was she?

"And you can do better than me" he offered, staring out across the garden.

"What makes you think that?" she replied.

"Look at me Nurse!" he exclaimed turning to her. "I might never get a good job with this am I?!" In his fury at himself he jolted his right arm and she could see the pain strip itself across his face. "Who's going to employ someone with one arm?!"

"You've only just been injured. You don't know what you'll be like in a year or two's time" she pleaded.

He was staring at the gravel underneath their feet now. She didn't know what was running around in his head when he prayed every night for oblivion. Frankly it was a good thing and putting on a front was easy, hoping her questions would not penetrate too deeply.

"Peter" she started, boldly taking his left hand, particularly as they were hidden away behind the wall.

"You're going back to London to marry your fiancée.." She saw him shake his head. "And you are going to get better and be as happy as you bally can be".

"I've decided I'm going to break it off. She's more interested in running off to Scotland than looking after a cripple and I can't provide for her in the future anyway". He had come to the conclusion when hearing Riley's news of her departure to the other end of the country. Just _one_ visit. That's all that would have sufficed. Still though, perhaps her not visiting might have been a blessing in disguise.

"You are not a cripple!" she exclaimed. "I know its terribly dastardly at the moment but she might still come and visit Peter".

"Camilla" he started, calling her by her proper name for the first time. "Even if she does, its over and done with". Peter was entirely resolute. Even if those feelings were not there that he harbored for her but knew that he could do nothing about, there was still the insurmountable hurdle of the absentee fiancee without any other complications of the heart.

"I don't know whether I can come and see you but I will try and write" she said. "Pa would never let me visit".

He nodded. "I'd like it if you could".

"I think" she started. "Perhaps we say our proper goodbyes now". It sounded all so final. In reality it might just be that as she teetered close to boundaries she knew she must not cross.

"You're not going until Friday" he remarked.

"I know, but how many more walks are we going to have? We've the Christmas Dinner tomorrow and then the Carols and because I…" the words stuck in her throat. "Because right now, I won't push you away". She swallowed nervously. "Just this once".

Chummy could not believe what she had just said. If he hadn't understand there would be no way on Hell's earth she was going to explain herself wondering where this courage was suddenly coming from but she could see from his face, the worried frown, that he has received her message loud and clear.

His left hand reached across to her cheek pulling her towards him, lingering, before she felt his lips touch hers again. This time it wasn't a quick peck of a kiss that she barely felt but in its comfort and desire had the resigned promise of what might have been.

They walked back inside the Manor in silence.


	10. Chapter 10

"Camilla your father wishes to see you in his study" her mother announced as Chummy returned home, just wanting to curl up under the covers, sink into her mattress and trying to ease her aching mind. The voice came, disjointed and ghostly from the sitting room whilst her only daughter walked past.

Moments later she was standing in front of her father.

"Camilla," he started, standing straight and awkward in front of her. ""We have decided that you are better occupied at home".

"Pardon?" she asked, head shooting up after, in an almost routine, staring that the floor whilst one parent or another talked at her.

"Your mother and I wish you to be at home as there are tasks here that are capable of occupying you" he replied, annoyed she had questioned his motives. "You are to accompany your mother to the coast tomorrow for the day as she wishes to visit your great aunt Margaret. I understand this is to begin with and I further understand the Vicar requires some assistance for the Carol Concert on Thursday with dressing the Church. We have however decided as a family that only your mother and I will be attending the actual event. You are to stay here with your brother".

"Why?" Chummy asked, voice breaking, confused, scared and her face creasing into a frown.

"Do _not _answer me back!" he scolded. "You will stay here and you will do as I say! I will hear no more about it!" He waved his hand at her, dismissing her as she felt tears sting.

Quickly she ran upstairs, almost cannoning to the oak table at the top, and into her bedroom, suddenly not knowing what to do with herself. Sit down? Lie down? Cry in frustration?

From somewhere, her eyes lay on the dresser and a thought struck. She began to fumble with the clothing in her top drawer reaching to the back, finding that slip. It was gone. That note. Gone. She'd hidden it; safe, she thought, wrapped up from sight and now it was gone. That was it. Over. They must know and that was the reason for her sudden extraction from the Manor.

What was the address?! 43? 33? She would never be allowed to go the library to find a street map of Poplar without an escort now if there had been whispers on the grapevine; enough to cause clearly her mother, or someone her behalf, to be searching around her room. She felt violated, what little privacy she had invaded.

Raines Road? Why was she in so much of a panic that she couldn't remember a simple address?

Each drawer checked. Had she moved it and not realised, something done in her sleep almost?

_"__Don't be so foolish Camilla. You know perfectly well what has happened. You're secret has been rumbled"._

She was quite glad she was not going to the Carol Service now. Peter would be there but she would not be allowed to peep a single word to him so perhaps it was a blessing. Laying on her bed, staring blindly at the ceiling, watching the chandelier catch the moonlight she had no strength to stop the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.

"Ted? Where are you going?" Chummy asked. It was the night of the Carol Service and she had heard her brother positively bounce down the stairs.

"Out" her brother replied sharply, throwing his overcoat around his shoulders.

"To where?" she replied, stepping out from her place in the sitting room doorway where she had tried to engage with Jane Eyre again. "You know Mater and Pa said we have to stay at home".

"_You_ may have to say at home" Ted replied, straightening his tie in the hall mirror "but _I_ do not. One isn't Pa's unpaid babysitter you know!"

"So where are you going?" she asked, not thinking for a second as she folded her arms that he might answer her properly.

"For a walk with that rather enticing cousin of Robbie Fitzpatrick. Georgina or Grace or something beginning with a G anyhow. Going for a quick canter around the village and see how the land lies, if you know what I mean". He winked at her.

"Gabriella" Chummy sighed not really wanting to know. Glancing at the clock in the hallway it read twenty to eight.

"I'll be back before the old ones are back don't you worry Sissy and we can tell Mummy and Daddy that we played Monopoly and ate our supper like all good schoolchildren!". He squeezed her arm and she sighed as the door closed.

What do now? Sleep? Read again? Anything to take her mind from her sudden separation and her mother's apparent duplicity. Perhaps she would read.

Chummy settled herself in the sun room, instead of being engrossed in Jane Eyre, found herself staring that the stars in the night sky above through the glass roof. Her eyes began to dip out of the lack of sleep that had plagued her these past nights until…..

What was that noise? Chummy was alone in the house, Mrs Green now having left for the night, Ted was off God knows where with some girl and she was alone.

'No just your imagination' she thought. Hill House was otherworldly enough at times without her mind taunting her. She was hearing things, of course she was. It could an animal, anything after all they were in the wilds of the Somerset countryside. Chummy settled back to her book, determined to finish those last few chapters that she had to place to one side as her duties at the Manor overtook her. She tried desperately to concentrate, eyes flashing up occasionally as her thoughts continued to insist that that noise was real.

No! That was a noise. A door creaking. Perhaps Mrs Green had forgotten something or Ted's assignation had turned sour which more likely. Chummy stood up without thinking, unconsciously taking hold of an empty vase from the sitting room, just in case. Heart pounding, the noise was coming from the kitchen and it was feet creeping across the floor. Maybe it was Mrs Green, but surely she would have turned the light on?

He saw the glint of the glass in the moonlight, back to the refrigerator, hoping it was her and not one of her brothers. Just to his side he saw her appear in the doorway recognising the simple grey dress again.

"Camilla it's only me" he whispered.

"Peter?" she replied, turning to find him almost behind her, trying to stop her heart thumping at the voice in the darkness and the inherent fear of an intruder.

"How did you get in here?!" she asked, keeping her voice low even though it was only the two of them together, knowing the back door, front door and cellar door were all firmly locked shut. Chummy tucked away the thought in the back of her mind that she was relieved to find it was only him and not a stranger. That said, though.

He produced a hair pin from his pocket. "Is that mine?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes" he replied. "I found it under my bed. It must have slipped out and I forgot to give it you back". She knew she was missing one; a habit that she counted each one as there had been far too many a time she had stabbed herself in the scalp in the middle of the night having left one in. She still had a confused look on her face though.

"I know its stereotypical but I come from the East End of London. My Dad taught me to pick a lock when I was 11" he replied with a grin, almost proud of the fact.

"Oh!" she whispered, not quite knowing what to say.

"Riley's covering for me. He turned up today and he's pretending I've gone to get some fresh air out of the Church" he offered. "He owes me a favour when I had to pretend he was asleep on the back of a truck when he was up an alley with some Dutch girl in Amsterdam". He looked up and saw her face. "Sorry" he apologised, entirely embarrassed that the words had slipped out inadvertently of their misadventures.

"It's not my business anyway" she muttered, seeing the shame cross his face. Still she thought, it wasn't as though _he_ was up that alley with that girl. He might never have done anything like that and frankly why was she even thinking that about him that way and how he might have behaved before they knew each other?

"I just wanted to say goodbye" he said, having trekked across a field determined to find Hill House, ignoring the tightness in his chest, breathlessness and the aching knees through lack of exercise.

"We already said goodbye" she reminded him, thinking of the time in the kitchen garden just a few days before her sudden absence. "Your address, what is it?" she replied, suddenly remembering her turmoil.

"I thought I put it in the card?" Peter queried.

"You did. Mother found it. What is it?" she asked again urgently, fear mounting that they would be disturbed and not wanting him to ask any more than she had already offered over the loss of the card.

"34 Reeves Road, Poplar".

She nodded.

"Repeat it" he continued, placing his good hand on her elbow, taking a pace forward. The familiarity felt natural.

"34 Reeves Road, Poplar" she echoed.

"And?" he asked again, eyebrows raised.

"34 Reeves Road, Poplar" she said for the third time, sure she now remembered it.

"And you will write to me?" he asked, unconsciously squeezed her elbow.

"Of course, but you are going to have to go!" She exclaimed gently turning him back towards the kitchen door.

"Wait Camilla" he said, turning back, reaching up to brush a strand of hair that had crept in her haste across her forehead. They could barely see each other in the dark of the kitchen. "I know I have to go, but….."

Chummy was stunned into silence by the simple act of affection as his fingertip swept across her skin. "I know" she whispered sadly, deciding the only place to look in her melancholy was the stone floor. "But I promise I will write".

"Good" he whispered summoning up his most convincing smile. "And I am breaking it off with Jean". Peter didn't expect her to answer; he would probably have come to the same conclusion without the appearance of Auxiliary Browne. Even then though, both knew that door was closed before either truthfully realised it could be open.

She nodded, seeing him step towards her again, reveling, absorbing and ingraining in her mind the kiss that followed.

34 Reeves Road, Poplar. She didn't need to write it down again.

FIN


End file.
